


Attraction

by Songofpsalms297



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Absolutely cavity inducing, F/F, F/M, Friend to Family relationships too, Gen, Grad school is done! Now to write and look for a job!, Harding and Inquisitor, In the midst of school, Loverbirds, M/M, Phew! Sorry for the spelling, There will be other relationships/characters as I write., Tooth Rotting Fluff, and bad grammar, and structure, my brain desperately requires the comfort of a creative outlet, no smut though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2018-09-30 01:39:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 16,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10150298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songofpsalms297/pseuds/Songofpsalms297
Summary: Series (hopefully) of one-shots of characters musing on their loves, and when they became aware of that attraction. Or just vignettes of life for them.





	1. Varric

**Author's Note:**

> I have a feeling these will be updated weekly, probably Monday. However, with my schedule being incredibly chaotic think (frog in a blender), there might be more, or less time between updates. Feel free to specify which characters and pairings you'd like to see. 
> 
> I don't do non-con, rape (of any sort), or underage. 
> 
> Otherwise, sky's the limit!

           Varric had to admit, if he were being honest with himself, his attraction to Cassandra had been strong from their first meeting. There was something about the way she'd blended her irritation, interest in the story he wove for her, and, he chuckled aloud, her heaving bosom whenever he got to the steamy parts of Hawke’s story. The way she would fight the delicate blush that crept along her cheeks. The way her eyes betrayed her ”academic” interest. Long before the interrogation was half over, they both knew he was writing the story for her benefit. 

          His eyes sparkled when he recalled the end of the “official” Chantry sanctioned interrogation and the start of their unofficial information gathering meetings. The way she'd told him it was just more research when he'd found her in his suite at the Hanged Man. Remembering their shared passion caused Varric to blush to the roots of his hair. Chuckling, he shifted subtly in his chair, scootched it a bit more under the table. there was a reason he didn't sprawl in chairs like Bull did anymore. Cassandra already had him by the short hairs, they both already knew it. Varric would just bide his time until she was ready for the rest of Inquisition's inner circle to know.  


	2. Ink and Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra's perspective on her feelings for a certain lovable dwarf. ;)

Cassandra flushed scarlet in response to Evie's question. In her attempt to hide the blush that covered her in a crimson wave, she reached out jerkily to bury her face in her tankard. Her embarrassment increased as she knocked her drink over, watching in horrified fascination as the ale rolled inexorably toward the lap of the object of her secret desires. With the prescience that comes sometimes with horror, she knew Varric would never get out of the way of the alcohol in time. That was just her luck. Miserably, Cassandra jumped up, desperate to find solace anywhere else. A tender hand catching hold of her wrist drew her out of her own agony of emotion enough that his gentle rumbling laughter caught her ears. Cassandra's gaze met Varric's. His eyes streamed with humor. His carefree laughter regarding his current situation worked a miracle on her own anxious response. Suddenly her anxiety broke into relieved laughter.

"You know, Seeker. There are easier ways of convincing me to take off my pants." And the flush that had begun to abate roared to life once again. She sputtered a response even as her eyes traitorously strayed to Varric's ale-drenched lap. Bull's guffaw boomed in the Herald's Rest, drawing curious stares to the long table where Evie, Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, Varric, Cassandra, Dorian, and Bull had been playing Wicked Grace. Cassandra's desire for the ground to open up and swallow her whole must have been etched on her face when Varric spoke next, "No harm done, Cass. I'll be back quicker than you can say 'Bartrand was a dirty nug-humper.'" With a wink, he shoved his cards at her to guard and sped off to his room to change. 

Evie watched Cassandra's face as her dear friend watched the author depart. She hadn't meant to embarrass Cassandra. She and Varric had been involved for months at this point, and their group of friends had been sharing things that first drew them to their current lovers. In retrospect, Evie remembered how painfully close Cassandra kept her feelings. Chalking her moment of forgetfulness to the copious amounts of Antivan Brandy Josie had been plying them with, she reached a hand over to touch Cassandra's forearm. "I am sorry, Cass. My brain is pickled, and I forgot that you don't enjoy sharing these sorts of personal things. Blame Josie and her delightful taste in liquor." At Josephine's protest, Evie giggled while she dodged the napkin the ambassador threw at her head.

Dorian watched in amused sympathy as Cassandra's face turned an even ruddier hue. Clearing his throat Dorian tried to put Cassandra's heart at ease. "Yes, just because Evie and Cullen like to shout their amorous thoughts, and positions from Skyhold's rooftops doesn't mean you must follow their appalling example." Glaring mildly at Evie's embarrassed expression he continued, "Not all of us are willing to share with the group, Evie." 

Cassandra took a deep breath, marveling at this group of friends she had found while trying to rectify the mistakes made by the Chantry and her own order. Caressing Varric's cards Cassandra reflected again on what had drawn her to him and when he had first become someone she might like to begin to build a life with. Her eyes softened as she thought back to their very first meeting. If she were honest with herself, that was where her attraction to the impossible dwarf had begun. She'd walked into the interrogation room determined to wrest the information on Hawke's whereabouts from him. Instead, he had charmed her with those warm brown eyes, twinkling with mischief. His laughter came easier than her own, despite his own numerous personal tragedies. He had the gentler spirit, but he was teaching her how to let go of some of her defensiveness, she knew she was being tamed by his hands, words, and heart. When he gave his love away, Cassandra knew it was without reservation, she knew she had all of him. 

Varric's return to the tavern was proclaimed by the welcoming shouts of the Herald's Rest's patrons.  The crowds parted for him, she tracked his progress from the door back to their table, noting he had changed into pants she had never seen before. She had a difficult time tearing her gaze away from him, it was only when his chuckle sounded in her ear that she met his eyes. Merry amber met nervous chestnut eyes. Impulsively Cassandra kissed Varric before returning his cards to him. Flushing as she did so. The whoops of approval brought her back to their present circumstances with a crash. Warm fingers touched her cheek and Varric followed her chaste kiss with one that lingered and promised later passion. Retrieving his hand from her nerveless fingers her favorite rogue returned to his seat on her left. 

Tingling lips spread in a smile, Cassandra realized had indeed been attracted to Varric since their initial meeting. That initial attraction had deepened into friendship, blended with desire the more time they spent together. There had been a fair amount of clashing between them but Cassandra had never surrounded herself with sycophants and flatterers. She had always appreciated Varric's ability to see through other people's bullshit, even if he was spinning his own. She loved his ability to evaluate his own motives, and when he erred, he didn't attempt to cover it, he took responsibility for it, and made amends. 

A shocked gasp escaped her as the full force of what she was thinking hit her. Varric nudged her leg with his own under the table. "Your turn, Cass." Stealing a glance at him she made her move, she didn't care if she lost the game. The mechanics were beyond her at this point. She paid the barest attention to the game, and banter that unfolded around her. Caught in the tempest of her own thoughts, and emotions. 

Maker take her, she was in love with the dwarf. 


	3. Paper Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall considers his feelings for our dear Ambassador.

          Surrounded by the cacophony that defined an evening in the Herald's Rest, Blackwall sunk a little deeper into his corner spot. Remembering Varric's bumbling attempts to spark a relationship between himself and the radiant star that was the Inquisition's ambassador, Blackwall snorted into his tankard. 

          "Ruffles", what a nickname! It doesn't even start to do her justice. She was like a star to him. She burned with a passion she kept thinly veiled below her peaceable persona.  He didn't look forward to her turning those smoldering eyes his way. He would just have to remain vigilant. So far his contact in Val Royeaux had let him know while authorities were still searching for "Thom Rainier", it was an investigation that had, by necessity, taken a backseat to all the other world-rattling events taking place. 

          He knew he could never deserve to touch Ms. Montiliyet. She was, no doubt, destined for another worthier man than he. He knew his time of hiding out was drawing to a close, could feel the noose closing about his throat. His nightmares reminded him of that. But he would enjoy leaving gifts for the beautiful ambassador. Flowers he'd seen her admire, purchasing those fancy Orlesian candies she ate on those days when she'd simply had enough. He would continue to fight to protect her. Yes, he'd signed up with "The Mighty Inquisition." But once he set eyes on her, his heart was gone. He would give her anything he could.

          And he would take from her whatever she would give him. The way his moniker rolled off her tongue like it had been turned to honey. The way she strode from the hall, eyes smoldering with purpose, eyes sparking with delight when she had solved a particularly nettlesome problem. The way her clothes would rustle in the hall as she brushed past whomever. The way the trim of her clothing ignited the flecks of gold in her eyes. The way she laughed merrily whenever someone jested with her. 

          Due to decades on the run for his life, he was always aware of someone's gaze. That was how she'd snared his heart after all. The group of them had arrived in Haven, while he'd been setting up his bunk with Harritt, she'd come down to speak to the blacksmith about crafting a light set of armor for herself. Something she could wear under her clothes, light enough she wouldn't sweat, but strong enough they could deflect errant letter openers and the like. He'd heard her voice, and peered out of the doorway like a nervous school boy. The breeze danced in her hair, kissing her cheeks as she laughed merrily with Harritt.

          Just as he met the eyes of the dwarf from across the room, the realization hit him. He'd been taken with Josephine since he first laid eyes on her. The answering twinkle in Varric's eyes made Blackwall realize the dwarf had discerned the path of his own thoughts. Oh well, Varric was a decent sort. Raising his tankard in acknowledgment, he downed the remainder in one shot. Standing, he nodded to the crowd thronging their resident tale-spinner and strode out the door into the night.

 


	4. Horns Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Iron Bull.

          The first time they met, Dorian hadn't spared him more than a passing glance. After Dorian had passed on his message to the Inquisitor that the horde was coming fast on his heels, they'd not had the opportunity to do more than accept each other as tentative allies, then fight to keep the little village from falling to the creepy magister with the incredibly creepy dragon-thing. So really, no time to do more than fire a cursory admiring glance, and a couple testing innuendos to gauge the mage's interest level. No need to issue an invitation you were sure would be rejected. 

          After Haven fell, and they had taken up residence in the miraculously recalled elven fortress located somewhere in West Bumblefuck, propped in his favorite chair, Bull had taken more time to admire the view the 'Vint displayed. Despite Dorian's feigned nonchalance, Bull knew the mage was interested. So he played up the innuendo, increasing the crassness just to determine the boundaries wherein the two of them could play together. He knew when the 'Vint was admiring his body too. Dorian had tells that Bull could read more clearly than that pornography Varric wrote for Cassandra. He wouldn't tell Dorian that though. Bull didn't want Dorian to change them, they were ~~adorable~~ useful. He hadn't been Ben-Hassrath for two decades to pass over intelligence like that. It was damn useful. As was the knowledge that the Charger's battle cry turned the mage on. Bull could tell by the way the little blush dusted his cheeks, and he would shift a little away from everyone else, suddenly finding something to study. 

          Bull discovered after their first night together that it wasn't just the battle cry, it was his voice specifically that aroused Dorian. They'd been snuggling in the afterglow of damn good sex, Dorian pressed up into his side, tracing patterns on Bull's chest. Dorian had finished sharing a story about growing up in Tevinter, and was waiting for Bull to share one of his own. Not wanting to break the sweetness of the atmosphere, in a softer rumble, he'd begun a story about a game of tag he and some of his fellows had begun which had turned into a prank on their tamassarans. And Bull had became aware, as he spoke, of Dorian's increasingly pronounced desire. 

          Chuckling at the revelation, he leaned in and brushed his lips across Dorian's nose. "Are you ready for round two?" The answering twinkle in Dorian's eyes makes Bull's heart skip. 

          "Horns up!"

          

          

 


	5. Flame and Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lace and Evie discuss things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Leliana and Lace's relationship in canon is professional. Perhaps my love of Varric and Cassandra has inspired my mind to pair odd couples, it may also have to do with Cassandra's stabbing of Varric's book. Who knows. One day while playing my Inquisitor chatted with Scout Harding outside the Herald's Rest, and Harding threw out a bit of dialogue I haven't been able to find since. She'd noticed Leliana's gaze and jumped to the conclusion she was going to be killed by the spymaster. I thought it would be fun if Leliana were interested in Harding and was going through a subtle approach. 
> 
> I know this is a rare pair, let me know what you think?

          The Inquisitor had just accepted her commission to gather an army of The Faithful and bring them to bear in the war to vanquish Corypheus. The crowd still riding the high that comes from unity, when she felt the gaze. Years of living out of doors, first taking care of her neighbor's goat, next as a scout for the fledgling Inquisition, she'd learned how to use all her senses to warn her of the direction potential threats came from. 

          Almost subconsciously Harding found herself scanning the departing crowd for the threat. The hairs on her neck were screaming. Her stomach dropped through the floor when she met Leliana's regard. Panicking but schooling her features Lace raised a hand tentatively in greeting, disarming smile upon her lips. 

           Harding tried not to think of "the incident" all week despite the complexity of her duties, the memory of the look of calculation on Leliana's face, the upturned lips. Lace wasn't going to disturb anyone with her concerns, but she had stopped eating. She'd thought she was hiding her distress well, but Evie had figured it out. Probably because they'd spent so much time in the strangest places in Thedas. 

          Lace giggled despite herself. They should work on a travelogue together, her and Evie. Maybe Varric would introduce them to his editor and they'd make a mint together. Her giggle caught her dearest friend's attention as they fletched arrows by the fireplace in Evie's room. 

          "That is a welcome sound, Lace! I've been worried about you for the past week. I know something's bothering you. Out with it."

          "Bossy." Evie shot a mock-glare in Lace's direction. 

           Huffing her bangs in pretend annoyance, she looked at Evie. "I think Leliana is going to have me killed. I don't know what I've done to offend her. Maybe you could find out for me? I caught her looking in my direction last week. The very next day I found a bundle of Crystal Grace in a vase on my nightstand." 

          Evie looked like she was about to explode. Lace waited impatiently for her friend to speak. Evie dissolved into gales of laughter instead. 

         "Evie! What? Do you know something? What?" Lace grabbed one of the myriad throw pillows scattered around Evie's room and hit her with it. Evie sputtering, and attempting to control her laughter enough to speak was enough to trigger Lace's laughter.    
          "Leliana thinks you are pretty. She wants to see if you would be interested in her. Two weeks ago she asked me what your favorite flower was, so I told her." Harding squawked.

         "Why didn't you tell me? Here I've been freaking out! I thought she was going to murder me in my sleep! Not invite me to dinner! Ugh. I hate you!" The grin spreading across Lace's face belied her words. 

         "Thank the Maker, Lace! I know I should have told you, but after listening to a half hour description of the "way her freckles kiss her cheeks, and dance across the bridge of her nose," I figured she had it bad. And she was on the list of Haven-inhabitants you said looked attractive enough to do. Though that could have been because of all that cheap ale we drank that night."  
         Lace hit Evie with the pillow again. Evie grabbed for it. A half an hour later a shocked spymaster surprised the two rogues standing in a pile of feathers, spent pillows in each hand. Down lingering in the air as Scout Harding met Leliana's eyes, bright color suffusing both their cheeks while Evelyn Trevelyan tried to smother knowing giggles.

          


	6. Straw and Ruffles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall find himself in an interesting situation.

Ebony satin tresses spill over onto his back. His arms twitch just enough to convey the security of his presence, immobility of his comfort, protection, adoration. He promises her forever without words.

He doesn't trust himself with words anymore. Words are a treasure. He cannot trust himself with the spending ofthem anymore. Maker, he was an ass. He didn't realize what he'd done until it was all over. 

He wishes he could pour his words onto a page for her delight alone. Beardless dwarf's suggestion be damned. Rubbing small comforting circles on her back, he remembers that time in his life, ages ago. 

From the rusty feel of the memory, it might've been in the past age since he's been that man who spun nonsense verse with one goal in mind. A quick tumble. Swindling a young Noble's virtue. Just to say he'd gotten there first.

Ironic now the words she longs for, he cannot permit himself to give. He knows he is worth less than nothing.  Wonder blooming small, yet here she is. Her hair flowing like pure silk in waves across his body. Hey deceptively frail arms clutching him, though terrified he would disappear in a vapor's huff of breath.

Maker knows what he would give to go back in time and advert the disaster that turned him into a skulking coward. But then he never woulds have met his glorious, amber eyed ambassador. Who was currently nestled into his arms weeping brokenly.

If he were quiet enough, and steady enough perhaps she would share her burdens with him. That's all he hoped from her.


	7. Hair tonics and beards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine's musings.

It was Sera who'd called her attention to his beard first. It was a lovely one for all that it appeared unkempt, she knew Blackwall took great pains for its care. After all, she knew the beard tonic he used was specifically crafted by a highly skilled alchemist in Orlais. One who had a reputation for exacting standards. 

She'd giggled when she'd caught Blackwall and Dorian in the library, heads together like naughty children studiously avoiding being caught.Which merely whet her curiosity, she was determined to find out what they were up to. Leliana fortunately shared her curiosity. Over the wartable, before they were joined by Commander Cullen and the Inquisitor, Leliana had casually mentioned that an order for Blackwall's preferred hair tonic had gone out yesterday. And wasn't it odd? Especially when the latest batch had arrived at Skyhold last week?

The better part of his beard were the eyes which sparkled above it. The corners crinkled when he delivered a particularly snide line to one of his companions.She'd had to clap her hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter when he'd answered Sera's question about facial hair in the grey wardens. Other than the tell-tale twinkle in his eyes he deadpanned his response to Sera. 

"No, just me. I stole all the beards... and all the power held within. There can be only one." Unable to quiet the snort that escaped her, Josephine sped up the entrance to the Great Hall to hide her giggles in paperwork and letters.

She never saw the smile that split Blackwall's face when he realized she'd been listening to his and Sera's chatter.


	8. Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's thoughts.

           Grey skin wasn't usually a turn-on for a necromancer. Eew. There were some magical excesses that even  **his**  home country frowned upon. Again, eew. Horns weren't supposed to be a turn-on either. There was something primally arousing about his one-eyed, horn-bedecked lover. That silvery-golden eye could pierce through all of the armor Dorian wore around his heart, and leave Dorian exposed, and cocooned in love all at the same time. Bull was crass though. Something that alternately irritated and amused Dorian. Dependent entirely upon where Bull was aiming his verbal volleys. Yet for all his flippant remarks about casual intimacy, Dorian knew Bull had a romantic heart that rivaled Cassandra's. He longed to be wooed, wined, dined, and admired. His Ben-Hassrath training had taught Bull to hide those vulnerable parts of himself away under an attitude of studied indifference, bury them so deeply that they couldn't be discovered and weaponized against him or his squad. Dorian knew Bull longed to sweep others up into his muscular arms, and have another swoon near him, bosom heaving, delicate flush kissing the cheeks of his lover. Flashing fire meeting smoldering passion.

          Dorian chuckled aloud at the direction his thoughts had taken. Thank the Maker for heavy mage's robes. Adjusting himself surreptitiously in his seat, covering the move with a casual lean to grasp the stem of his wine glass, then leaning back to bring the rim of the glass to his lips before sipping some of the amber, he allowed his eyes to drift around the tavern. Unsurprisingly his eyes settled on the broad back of his amatus. Not that Dorian had spoken that wish aloud yet. When the time was ready. Though Dorian knew where his own heart lived. Dorian had fallen hard for the gentle soul that beat beneath Bull's brash exterior. The tender heart that wept when they read a particularly mushy section of one of Varric’s romance novels and the eye sharper than one of Leliana’s crows to discern traitorous plans, nefarious deeds in the making. Yet gentle enough to calm a terrified child, admire the beauty in a flower, and the radiance in stone.

            Tears sparkled in Dorian’s eyes remembering the day he’d presented Bull with his half of their shared dragon’s tooth. The months it had taken to locate the perfect tooth, not that their darling Inquisitor hadn’t cooperated and helped them take down several dragons. Dorian had wanted to find the perfect tooth, and he would only know it when he saw it. Thank the Maker he’d found it in the maw of that Hivernal in Emprise du Lion. The preparation process took another couple months to clean, hollow, and cut the filigree pattern into the tooth. Dorian, Dagna, and Harritt had worked day and night polishing and shaping. It was a smaller tooth, one of the Hivernal’s incisors. With Harritt, and Dagna’s help, he’d been able to create a dawnstone setting to showcase the two halves of the ivory tooth.

            Dorian was grateful they’d had no audience when he’d presented the split and set pendants to Bull. Dorian had expected a solitary tear, a laugh, a bear hug. He had been astonished when Bull saw the jewelry, wrapped himself around Dorian’s frame and wept. Not bothering to stem the tide of his own emotion rolling down his cheeks, he’d continued brushing Bull’s head between the horns. After a few moments more, Dorian had raised Bull’s face, so their eyes could meet.

            “Amatus?” Dorian asked, a little shaken by his lover’s response to the gift. A smile that kissed his eye split Bull’s face. Warmth suffused them both when Bull rumbled his response.

            “It is perfect, Kadan. It’s fucking perfect.”

 


	9. Speechless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric's musings of the times Cassandra has left him speechless.

The first time Varric is struck speechless by Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, it is shortly after they meet for the first time. Her verbal volleys don’t do it, nor do her autumn amber eyes. It is that moment shortly after she throws her copy of _The Tale of the Champion_ into his face, and quick as lightning she stabs him. Right in the book. He’s grateful for all his merchant’s guild training so far. The pause in his speech is just a hair too long. Very telling to someone who’d known him all his life, or for a significant period of his life. Hawke would have caught it. And mocked him for it. Why was he covering for that arrogant, hardnosed bastard again? Right. Sunshine.

 

The next time he is struck speechless, Cassandra had just asked him about his relationship with Bianca. Her self-righteous tone seeping through the gently probing question. He covered it fairly quickly though. Not quick enough though. Tiny’s knowing smirk practically shouted that he knew Cassandra’s question had momentarily robbed Varric of words. So he lashed back, harder than he’d intended. He was shocked that he felt like a schmuck, when he saw the cost of his caustic response written on her face.

 

The third time was a short while later. He’d opened his mouth to bumble through an apology about his cutting reply to her previous question about Bianca. She told him about some mage she had loved years ago, who’d died at the conclave. Which made him feel like even more of an asshole. Shit. As beautiful as she was, Cassandra could have had her pick of anyone, but she hadn’t chosen to be with anyone since? Shit.

 

The next time she rendered him speechless, he’d managed to blunder through a heartfelt apology for needling her into confessing her ill-fated relationship with that mage. She’d made that crack about yelling and stabbing books. It had shocked the laughter right out of him.

 

This latest time Cassandra had not only stunned him to silence, she’d taken his breath away. She was standing in the foyer of the Winter Palace. Red silk gown draped itself across her form like it was living water. It scooped low in the back, framing the musculature of her incredible body, enticing the eye to follow the line of her spine to hint at her incredible rear end. The dress hugged her frame in a lover’s embrace, and Varric couldn’t breathe much less form a thought. She turned at the sound of Bull’s footfall, her eyes twinkling, as the Qunari stood alongside Varric, joining him in his admiration of the revelation of the princess side of their fellow warrior.  All the blood that normally fed his thoughts was rushing to feed a part of his body that resided below his sash. His pants grew increasingly snug, the longer he looked at his favorite Seeker.

 

He started when a hand reached out to close his mouth. A low chuckle greeted his ears as he once again followed Tiny’s gaze to the vision in red before them. “That’s the best impression of a slack-jawed idiot I’ve seen so far today. And we’re here at the Winter Palace.”

 

With Cassandra standing less than twenty feet from them, Varric couldn’t come up with a reply to Tiny’s jibe. He was lost in the revelation standing before them both.


	10. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra deals with the aftermath of blurting out her feelings.

          She’s still not certain what made her do it. She was an incredibly private person, and did not appreciate the level of gossip that her life had generated so far. Speaking in her quarters later with a sympathetic Evie and a bottle of Antivan Brandy the two warrior women discussed at length what could have caused Cassandra to snap. And so publicly. It could have been the stress of having to deal with the entire Orlesian royal court one week after Evie had settled the disaster of the Orlesian civil war. It could have been because they were closer than ever to discovering the source of the red lyrium, but as they drew closer to the source, more and more of those horror creatures appeared. Cassandra shuddered. And the memory of that one Templar breaking out in red lyrium shards all over his body, like a violent volcanic eruption all over. One moment there was a man with glowing red eyes, and evilly veined skin, and half a second later there the blood-curdling screams were silenced by crimson crystalline formations where his head had been.

          It could have been the myriad frustrations and infuriations which had seemed too small to note at the time, like the tiny grains of sand which get into your clothing while you walk through the desert. They are such miniscule irritants that you don’t pay much attention to them, if any at all. All the while they chafe, and scratch your body in all manner of uncomfortable places that you aren’t aware of. Not until the sweat drops rolling down your body discover one. Then they become a fire of agony. Like playing nanny to the Inquisition’s Mages, and Templars. Ugh. She’d felt like an underpaid babysitter.

           It could also have been that she was finally tired of that frustrating dwarf’s dithering. She was tired of waiting for him to make a move. She had grown weary of always being the one to begin conversations. Though given their rather stormy past, his reticence was not without validity. It could also have been because she’d become more aware of the admiring looks he was getting from others in and around Skyhold. Whatever the reason, it was certainly impulsive. And as much as she wished she could take it back, she could not. Her face coloring as she remembered taking the last bit of teasing she could possibly take for the foreseeable future. She had slammed down her tankard, his eyebrows rising ever higher. His look of alarm had infuriated her even more. At the height of their animosity, the worst she’d done was stab his book. Granted it was on his lap at the time. Irritated beyond her capacity to withstand it a moment longer, she’d shot to her feet and bellowed all of Skyhold had been privy to her uttermost thoughts, just before she’d sped off to her rooms above the forge.

          “What do you mean you don’t understand _why_ I would turn down the Chantry’s appointment as Divine?! _I am in love with **you**!_ Maker take us both!”

 


	11. Of Taverns and Storytellers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An eventful evening in the Herald's Rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts will be italicized. Cass, Varric, and assorted hilarity.  
> Oh! And language. Like my favorite phrase. Which you will see soon. :D You are very welcome! ;)  
> Its weird. Post-assignment submission fluff.

_Maker take it, she was grateful she didn't have to worry about an obvious physical sign of attraction like males._ She snorted into her tankard. Her feet propped up on a chair  in the corner. A grin split her face remembering a conversation she and Evie had had while returning to Skyhold from the political nonsense that was Halamshiral. They'd stayed up later "keeping watch" while the rest of their party had gone to sleep, and they'd spent hours giggling like sisters about the ridiculous outfits they'd been forced to wear, and gossiping about how the outfits had looked on everyone in attendance. Both Cassandra, and Evie having preferred the honest edge of a weapon to the double bladed tongues that fueled the courtly intrigue, and politics they'd both grown up to despise. After laughing about the ostentatious outfits that were the height of Orlesian fashion, they both agreed that the Inquisition "uniform" looked the best on Dorian. 

         Merriment dancing in her eyes, Cassandra teased Evie, "We both know you found a certain  _commander_ particularly appealing in the uniform." Cassandra dodged Evie's punch, laughing aloud as the light from the campfire showed the flush that bloomed on Evie's face. Guilelessly, Evie's next comment had them both gasping with laughter until tears streamed from their eyes.

          "Whew! Maker! When Cullen emerged from his rooms in that uniform, I had to check my pants, I swear I popped a ladyboner everyone could see!" Twenty minutes and a very disgruntled Dorian and Sera later, the two warriors had calmed enough to catch their breaths, wiping their streaming eyes. 

          "Maker take you, Evie!" Was all Cassandra could splutter, "I have not laughed like that since before Anthony died!" Evie had sniggered her way into sleep. The next day they'd returned to Skyhold and Cassandra, unwilling to interrupt Evie's planned seduction of Cullen, she found herself down at the Herald's Rest enjoying the view before her.

          He was like a magister the way he held the room in thrall, laughter dancing in his eyes as he spun tales. He was gesticulating wildly, drawing his crowd deeper into it, weaving new elements in, drawing the audience in deeper. The crowd surrounding him watched him, delight written on their faces, as he told the tale of their latest dragon battle. All the characters were larger than life, the ones who had been there were rapt, holding their breaths waiting for the next part of the tale. This was a dangerous magic indeed. And Cassandra was just as entertained as the crowd surrounding him.

          Her eyes drifted, caught by his hands as they wove in another element, up his delightfully muscled arms. Across his favorite tunic, her breath hitching as she remembered the feel of his chest hair under her fingers. Moving up the column of his throat, adam's apple bobbing as he spoke, her eyes continued her admiring route up along the line of his jaw, over his full lips, as they split into a grin. Her eyes traveled over the scar cutting across the bridge of his nose, settling on the dark honey of his eyes. 

         How he knew she'd never puzzle it out. He just turned. His eyes sparkling in the glow of the fire dancing as they caught hers. Maker take the damned dwarf. He'd caught her practically undressing him with her eyes. His lips turned into that gentle smile, the one he'd given her after she'd returned to earth this morning. Replete in his arms, he'd smiled at her. A gentle, playful, sweet smile that conveyed all his tenderest desires for her. That smile was their secret smile. The one he reserved for her alone. She'd felt her face color like Evie's had the evening before. She was grateful her friend wasn't here to witness this. Cassandra would never live down the "ladyboner" teasing. 


	12. Lyrium Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana.

It snuck up on her. Maybe it was a combination of factors. Listening to the rumble of his voice as he ardently proposed his course of action. The way his chocolate eyes warmed and his color rose during debates around the War Table. The warm chuckle when something struck him funny.

The kind, yet firm corrective commands he would shout to the recruits. The sparkle in his eyes she had caught when she appeared in the gown Josephine had sanctioned for her to wear at Celene and Briala’s celebratory ball. The glimpse of him she had caught after their game of Wicked Grace. She had not tried to see, but what she had seen…Fen’harel Cullen was a beautiful man. Varric had chuckled, and teased her for a week about her reaction to the streaking commander of the Inquisition’s armies.

“Curly works as his nickname for many reasons.” Cassandra had laughed aloud at the Varric’s grunt of pain from Eliana’s punch to his shoulder. Later when she and Cassandra were keeping watch at the fire, gossiping and giggling like sisters. Eliana’s intention was to tease Cassandra about her burgeoning crush on the Inquisition’s resident storyteller. Eliana loved drawing shocked giggles from the normally staid warrior.

The phrase she used to describe her reaction to Cullen was one Eliana had overheard Sera use to describe her reaction to Dagna in a dress.

“I popped a lady-boner! He is so hot!” It fit so perfectly, it flew out of her mouth before she could stop it, and the shocked expression on Cassandra’s face, she and the warrior dissolved into endless, helpless giggles.  

Eliana knew then she had it bad for Commander Rutherford. The question was, was he interested in the attentions of an awkward Dalish rogue?


	13. Reflections by the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas reflections by the fire.
> 
> A little Solavellan fluff for my oldest.
> 
> This little ficlet is dedicated to ArtKriegGamer24.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies. I find Solas an insufferable character. However, many people I care for love this particular pairing. This was a rough story to write due to the intensity of my dislike. I tried to not let it influence my writing. 
> 
> With practice, I'm sure I'll get better.

The crackle of wood consumed by flame permeates his subconscious blending with other ambient campsite sounds. The soft sigh of someone dreaming peacefully, the crack of a branch as a creature of the forest skirts the boarders of the camp’s boundary. Eyeing the flames, Solas stokes the fire, coaxing the embers into the center of the fire pit. Banking the coals, prepping the fire so it would burn safely throughout the night while the camp’s occupants slept. He has lost track of the number of campfires he’s tended in his lifetime.

The heat of the flame warms his ears, as he remembers the first time he met Eliana. Lips curling recalling his first conversation with Eliana, after Cassandra had brought her to the first minor veil tear. His heart tears a little bit more. Ah, such was his life. He almost wished he had not awoken after all.  Nevertheless, good things had come of all the tragedy.

So lost in his thoughts, he almost did not notice the little blonde rubbing her eyes, stuffed nug tightly gripped in her arms. Her soft voice, “Papae?”

“Vhenan, what disturbed your dreams?” He says scooping his little one snuggly into his arms, wrapping her close to his heart.

“Papae, you weren’t there. I dreamed you left Mamae, and she was crying. She hugged you, and suddenly part of her arm fell off! And she said you did it!” Frowning, he held her closer.

“Oh da'vhenan, I would never do that to your Mamae. You are my little heart, she is my big one.” Little face sleepily frowning in concentration.

“But Papae, you were mad about a pretty green ball that was broken.” Shuddering in memory of all he could have lost, had he not listened to Eliana when she found him in the fade after he had left the Inquisition, he brushed her curls off her forehead. He scooped up their daughter, causing her to giggle as she threw her arms around his neck. “Papae!”

“Nothing is as important as you, or your Mamae, Brialia. Nothing.” With that, he tossed her over his shoulder encouraging her giggles as he walked her back to the tent to tuck her in to sleep beside her mother. “If you promise to sleep, I will tell you another one of Wisdom’s tales.”

Little green eyes solemn, Brialia nodded. “I promise Papae!” After tucking her in close to her mother, and watching Eliana turn to wrap her arms around their daughter, Solas whispered one of Wisdom’s many tales to her, until she drifted off to rest.


	14. On Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie wakes Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anything Tevene, I borrow shamelessly from Latin. At least, Google's version of Latin. 
> 
> capulus (coffee)
> 
> crepito sugar quod capulus (cream and sugar coffee)

          Feather-soft lips caress his temple, rousing him from sleep. He manages an articulate "mmm?" before his nose picks up the scent of a warm beverage, harsher than tea, but more stimulating. Her musical laugh pulls him further from his drowsy state. Prying his eyes open, a soft smile plays across his lips seeing her curled in his favorite chair dressed in one of his many tunics that seem to find themselves in her dresser instead of his. Depending on the material, and length, she will allow him to wear it for a few weeks to a month before she filches it. Shamelessly flaunting her prize, usually in his bedroom the night before, or the morning after. Taking pity on his attempt to awaken, Evie pads over to the bed, standing just out of Cullen's reach. She wafts the scent of the capulus in her hand to tickle his nostrils. As he shifts to make a grab for her, she dances away, raising the beverage in her hand believing he was reaching for it, and not his true prize; the amber-tressed vision laughing in his clothing.  

          "Oh ho! Commander! If you would like a sip of this delightful Tevene beverage, you must drag that gorgeous body out of bed. As much as I would love to exhaust you again with my devotion, we have much to accomplish, otherwise, sweet Josie will turn her impressive administration skills upon our schedules, and I won't see you for a month!" Lips echoing the smile in his eyes, he got out of bed. The desire that sparked in her eyes as she looked at him, matched his rising desire. She licked her lips, setting the capulus on a table by the door, "I'll just leave this here for you, um..and get dressed elsewhere..otherwise...Maker, you are gorgeous." Wrapping his tunic tighter around herself, she began searching for her discarded clothing. Thoroughly enjoying the view, he made his move and grabbed her. "EEEK! Let Go! We don't have the time! Oh, but I wish we did!" Smothering her protests in kisses, he laughed and set her down. Handing her the pants she hadn't seen in her frantic grab for her clothing he rumbled in her ear,

          "Let's not provoke the ambassador then, Beloved." Much to their mutual chagrin, they dressed speedily and headed off to the WarRoom to find out the Inquisition's next round of business. 

  


	15. Friends?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra deals with the consequences of having a frugal Inquisitor as friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stress writing. Sorry.

          Sensible armor. She was used to wearing sensible armor. Cassandra trusted Evelyn with her life. It had surprised her to realize just how much she relied on Trevelyan. In addition, how rapidly their relationship had changed from suspect and interrogator to almost sisters. No one could take Anthony's place in her heart, but he had taught her how siblings and friends interacted. She marveled that Evie had become more like a beloved sibling than even a dear friend in the last few months. Cassandra attributed it to the combat hours they had logged together since the explosion wiped out the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Evie was an excellent judge of personalities, and combat techniques. Her ability to strategize on her feet had enabled Evie to save Cassandra, and the rest of their little tribe from bodily harm on more than one occasion. Cassandra admired Evie, and their warmly cheerful banter, her open heart. But, and this was the cause of Cassandra's current ... situation, Evie's desire to stretch the Inquisition's coffers as far as she possibly could. Evie was emotionally open and welcoming, like a certain dwarf was, but was the polar opposite when it came time to spending money. As a result of her penchant for "recycling," all of their group had gotten used to using whatever armor, or weaponry Evie “gleaned” from any enemies they fought, any stashes they came across. She would make this chirrupy noise when she found something she really thought would suit one of their party members well. They would all bite back exasperated sighs and don whatever equipment that Evie found, after Dagna and Harritt had modified it to fit whichever soldier it was designated for.

          That particular personality quirk was causing Cassandra an incredible amount of distress this morning. Evie also had built a reputation as an incredible negotiator. Josephine quipped regularly that the aplomb Evie applied to all her diplomatic negotiations would shortly result in Josephine having to resort to offering her services as ambassador elsewhere. Evie’s diplomacy skills were well known, especially after she reunited the ruling family of Orlais, and ended their civil war after a night of dancing, drinking, and gossip. Florianne had thought to gain the upper hand when she offered Evie a dance, scandalize Evie, and then mock her in front of the powers of Orlais. Instead, Evie had taken the insult and turned it into an honor. Cassandra permitted a giggle to escape when she remembered Florianne’s mouth agape, as Evie revealed the depth of her treachery on Halamshiral’s favored battleground. Evie had graciously received Celene’s gratitude and the strange assortment of gifts that had followed the Inquisitor to Skyhold. Evie had squealed in glee when she opened the crates and revealed the mishmash of armor Celene had sent. They were the height of fashion, and scandalously cut. In the note Evie had shown Cassandra, Empress Celene had remarked that this batch of armor had come highly recommended and she hoped Lady Trevelyan and her faithful would put it to best use. 

          Evie’s eyes twinkled dangerously when she pulled out the first pieces of armor last evening in her room. Cassandra had given a low whistle. Evie chuckled, “I have always admired that all Qunari have enormous stones, but to wear this little material in battle. Phew!” Cassandra had laughed, lifting a sash, or breast band from the box, she teased her friend, “If you wore this to a War-Table meeting, I am fairly certain a certain Commander would be glued to his seat for a while.”

          The flush that colored Evelyn Trevelyan’s face, ears, and neck caused Cassandra to laugh until she cried. Evelyn joined in and she and Cassandra had laughed themselves silly. They pulled themselves together while repackaging the Qunari armor in the case. “I doubt these scraps of material could stop any kind of attack, even if we could figure out how they were supposed to go together,” Evie commented, placing the lid back on the crate and sliding it to the corner of her room. “Warriors should be properly fitted for battle in materials that will best protect oneself from a variety of attacks. Not to show off one’s, assets. Therein lies danger.” Cassandra had scoffed into her wine. Both Evie and Cass shuddered when they remembered Bull’s descriptive, if unnecessary explanation for why he appreciated Cassandra’s preferred style of battledress.

          Evie snickered, and elbowed her friend in the side, “I know a certain author who would love to see a certain Seeker of Truth in all these bits and bobs.” Cassandra felt the blood rush to her face, and her ears were on fire as Evie’s teasing giggle turned into a full blown belly laugh.

          “Do not tease, Evelyn. My heart cannot take it. Varric only sees me as a good friend to jest with. And even that was tested in the aftermath of my little outburst about Hawke. I do not know that he would even consider me a friend these days. Our conversations have lost the ease they had before.” 

          Evie tried to stifle her eye roll, “Well, throwing a table at someone does tend to cause someone to rethink a relationship. Give him some time, Cass.” Evie bumped shoulders with her now morose friend. “He wrote you a dirty book, for Andraste's sake!” Cassandra’s head shot up at the disparaging comment about her favorite series.

          “It is not a ‘dirty’ book! It is, wonderful! You should read it!” Noting the amusement dancing in her friend’s eyes, hers narrowed. “It is not funny. You know the Commander is attracted to you. He practically drools when you walk past him. Varric sees me as his interrogator. Nothing more."

          Cassandra missed the glint of mischief in her friend’s eye as they said good night.

          Evie knew she was being a dick to her friends, but she knew Varric and Cassandra felt the same about each other. Neither one wanted to be friends forever. They were both afraid of making the first move, even as they wanted to be able to trust their hearts with someone who would treat it with love and tenderness. So, Evie decided to play matchmaker to her favorite author, and seeker. 

           She enlisted Cole's help to remove every article of Cassandra's armor from her room while she slept, replacing it with a completed Antaam-Sar. She'd asked Bull how they were supposed to be assembled. She included a note with her selection, complete with a happy stick figure diagram.

           _"Cass,_

_I've spoken with Bull, and the stats on these Qunari bits are amazing! They will provide far more protection and freedom of movement than your old seeker armor. I hope you don't mind, but I've taken the liberty of sending your armor out to Harritt to be thoroughly cleaned and repaired. Sadly, it won't be finished before we head to the Western Approach tomorrow. I labeled all the components and included for you a list of directions for how it was all supposed to be layered for optimal defense. Don't worry. I will be wearing the other one when we depart. We will forever be united in embarrassed solidarity. But we'll give Dorian a run for his money!_

_Evie"_

Cassandra crumbled the note pinned to the folded bits of leather, and cord, made to throw it into the fire, and noticed the second sheet behind it. Which as Evie had said in her note, was populated with directions on how to put it on. Cassandra bit back a curse as she put the armor on, then sighed. As much as Evelyn was fond of practical jokes, Cassandra knew her well enough to know that Evelyn took her troop's safety incredibly seriously. She would pour over statistics, and after spending an afternoon in the forge, Evie could be heard muttering formulae, tensile strengths of dawnstone, spider silk, and iron bark. She got positively giddy when she found a material that would provide a better edge to her team. So Cassandra knew her friend was teasing her, but was also providing her better armor and protection for whatever they might encounter in the field. She grabbed her bedroll, and kit, and headed down to the gate to meet Evie, Dorian, and Varric, on their way out to the Approach. She steeled herself for the catcalls she expected to hear, and the snide comment from a certain author.

          She was pleasantly surprised to reach the gate to find the party already gathered. She had not heard any negative comments on her armor. The real test she supposed would be what Varric said about it. Bull nodded at her, "I see my directions were clear enough to be followed, Cass. You and Evie look real good in the Antaam-Sar! Nice!" Patting her shoulder he leaned close to her ear, "Look into his eyes, Cass. He's gobsmacked. Put Varric out of his misery. Please."

          Startled, Cassandra looked toward where Varric was standing. "I wouldn't even know how to begin, Bull."

         The admiration in his eyes was evident, and she laughed involuntarily as she saw Evie's hand dart out to close Varric's mouth. Flustered, he cleared his throat, "Uh, Seeker."

          "Dwarf." She nodded in greeting, warmth, and excitement coiling in her gut, as she realized Varric was attracted to her. And wondering what in the Maker's name she was supposed to do about it, and how she was supposed to do it? 

 


	16. Antaam-Sar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric is caught openly admiring the Seeker's new armor.

_Maker’s balls,_ Varric shook his head when he felt someone’s hand shut his mouth. The rumble to his left told him he was making an ass of himself in front of the entire keep, but damned if he cared. He and Cassandra had bonded over Evie’s penchant for “recycling” as she phrased it. This particular quirk of the Inquisitor’s had become widely known throughout Thedas, as she would drop everything after a battle, scavenge whatever materials, armor, or weaponry she best thought would protect her “tribe” and after taking these items to Dagna or Harritt, she would present said item to whomever she determined it would work for. It didn’t hurt that Evie would show up at the door of the person with the modified item wrapped up like a Saturnalia gift, Evie’s grin mirroring a child awaiting Papa Saturnalia. Varric didn’t have the patience to figure out how she was so damned good at evaluating, and equipping her crew so well. It was almost like she had a cheat sheet of some kind squirreled away. She gave Bull a run for his Ben-Hassrath money at times.  

Varric decided he needed to do something nice for Tinker this time though. Maybe he’d talk to Ruffles about renting some time in her cousin’s house on the Antivan coast for a little getaway for Tinker and Curly to enjoy a little alone time. He was usually good enough at masking his emotions that no one could figure out who he was attracted to. Hell, he’d spun the Tale of the Champion so well; even those who’d been closest to him for a decade had no idea that he’d carried an unrequited torch for Hawke for a little while. He was good at covering his thoughts and feelings. Except for here. Well, Daisy could read him like a book too, but that was easily dealt with by being half a continent away, and evasive wording in his letters. He was able to distract her inquiries into his love life at the very least.

 _Andraste’s hairy ass._ This was going to be an interesting jaunt into the Emerald Graves, if he were any judge of a situation. Bull’s meaty hand patted Varric’s shoulder, and the writer fought to tear his gaze away from the vision of Cassandra walking toward him. Darkened gold and warm amber met. He cleared his throat and made note of the light rose blush dusting her cheeks. Her smile made his heart warm. Maker he was gone for her. He wondered if it were as obvious to her as it was to him.

“Seeker.” He nodded, attempting to hide his burgeoning appreciation of the Qunari armor Cass was wearing. From the smirk on Cassandra’s face, she knew the effect she was having on him, and it was, wait, was it mutual? _Maker’s balls,_ he was going to have to see how amenable she would be to an evening together talking. As she drew closer he became mesmerized by the way the cross straps shifted over the breast band that was clearly there for modesty’s sake. As Cassandra drew level with their group, Varric became vaguely aware of Tiny rumbling a comment about something, Cass’ lips moving in response. She smiled at Varric, and her blush deepened.  
            Evie’s snicker caught both of their attention.

“Shall we move out? Or do you two need a moment?” Varric shot a quick glare at Evelyn Trevelyan.

“Tinker, I don’t know if I should shoot you, or give you half of Kirkwall.” Evie’s evil laugh echoed against the stone as their group moved out of Skyhold proper.

“You are both so very welcome, Varric.”


	17. Like A Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor, poor Cassandra. She wears her heart right out in the open for all the world to see.

It hit her like a stone. Their eyes had met while he was handing her the next issue of her very favorite serial. In that moment, their hands had touched, briefly. In that moment, she knew. Ugh. She had fallen hard for the dwarf. With his glib tongue, ready to spin a tale at any moment. His laughing eyes that danced merrily by the campfire, in the tavern or on patrol. Those warm amber eyes that saw too much.

She admired his ability to shield himself or his loved ones with mere words alone. She hadn't appreciated being tricked by him, but getting lost in the melody of the tale he wove, she had greatly enjoyed that.

She flashed back to when she had realized that he had hidden Hawke's location from her, that he had played her. She was surprised to find it felt like a betrayal. She had been angry that he'd lied to her, but knowing him by that point, she understood he was protecting his family from a potential threat. And wasn't that what they did every day out in the field?

She had been surprised by how deeply she'd been hurt that after all that time working together on an almost daily basis, eating together, telling jokes and stories, living as part of the other's life. She had even told him about Anthony. And after months of this, closeness, she found out from Leliana that Varric had known where Hawke was the entire time. She had begun to believe that their relationship had grown from adversarial into a tentative kind of friendship. But that realization that he'd still seen her as someone to guard against had cut her deeply.

 

And he'd been surprised that she tried to throttle him!

 

"He didn't know. Fierce, but in a different way. Merry twinkling eyes full of laughter grow stone cold, flat in the face of danger to his loved ones. Fingering the fletching of a bolt, cold gleam in the eye, calculating, quickest, quietest means of silencing the threat. You won't have my family. Now he hurts too. He hurt his family while protecting it. His family grew beside him, drops of blood and sweat blooming into guards. Shields to keep him, them, all, safe." Cole's eyes locked onto Cassandra's, wide in shock.

"You're the surprise! He's the same. But different. His heart betrayed him too. His words lied to you to guard, protect his not-blood, but still brother. And his not-blood, but still sister. At first the tale was a shield to cover. Words like found branches sweeping behind obscuring the path taken. Raven received. Merchant's Guild code. Nicolio Tesslo. Chuckling to himself, grim cleverness. Brother safe. Sounds like an arrogant Nevarran archanist. Sad puzzling. Her. It always leads back to her. But why? Trying to crowd thoughts of long legs, and pleasured sighs, warm hearts, dark spiky hair out of his mind with remembered stolen embraces. Brown hair, curling mutinously out of the tie morphing into a raven braid circling spiky locks. No. NO. Back to remembered kisses skttering across NOT warm olive but ivory skin becoming. Realization strikes. Self-denial fails. I don't even--, Shit. You became part of his family, and he wasn't prepared for it. You surprised the rogue." Cole's face split into a smile.

Tears streamed down her face following Cole's rambling explanation. It was telling that she no longer startled at the "boy's" sudden appearance. Had gotten used to the cadence and abortive sentences he used. Could follow his trains of thought.

Looking down at her, Cole's face reflected her distress, he reached out a tentative hand to cover her own. "You should tell him you fell in love with him, too. That way he won't be alone dreaming of fires, and laughter. You can heal each other's hurts." With one last squeeze of her hand, Cole disappeared. Leaving a clean handkerchief behind. An explosion of many voices lifted in sudden laughter reminded Cassandra of where she was.

Drying her eyes, she waved one of the servers over, requesting another brandy. She leaned back in her chair, story momentarily forgotten as Cole's words penetrated the fog of her shock, and grief. She caught herself searching the crowd for Varric's voice, trying to pinpoint the rogue. Wait, Varric thought about her the same way she thought about him? Just then, the server arrived with a tray holding a tankard in addition to her snifter. Following the surprisingly hairy hand, up the very muscular arm, Cassandra's eyes met warm amber. Unwittingly a smile graced her lips, crinkling the corners of her eyes. His did the same.

"Is, uh, this a table just for one stunningly beautiful Nevarran princess? Or can a roguish merchant prince join you?" Unable to stop the furious blush that streaked across her cheeks, or the racing of her heart, she didn't trust herself to speak, merely nodding assent. His face broke into a grin as he sat down, sliding her drink over, and wrapping a hand around his own tankard. "So, uh, Cole blurted somethings at me about you, namely sharing my thoughts about how I'd been planning to screw up the courage to ask if you would deign to accompany me for a picnic outside the walls of Skyhold tomorrow, to the entire Wicked Grace table. 'Ask her. She'll say yes. Don't run again. Don't miss the one.' and disappearing."

Warm amber met chocolate tentatively, he clearing his throat, he tried again. "So, uh. Princess." Laughter escaped him, as he dodged a playful swing, "Wanna meet me for a private reading?"

"I would like that very much, Varric. But if you kill off the knight-captain’s lover, I will ask Cole to help me hide all of your inkwells and quills."

"It's a deal, Seeker."


	18. Campfire Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra laughs at one of Varric's jokes, and the fallout that ensues.

          Warm amber eyes merrily twinkling, their corners crinkled in irrepressible mirth. Peals of laughter erupted from the normally reserved Seeker of Truth. Ebony tresses became a blur as she threw her head back, releasing the silly joy that had captured her. Her laughter turns to breathless chuckles, her face flushes from exertion. She wheezes, helplessly gasping for breath. 

          He shakes his head, grin splitting his face. He looks around the fire at the laughter of his fellows who are enjoying Cassandra's joy almost as much as she evidently was. Maker's breath, he'd told that joke so many times with Hawke and company. It had never had this kind of reception before. Hell, he and Hawke had had a running bet to see who could come up with the shittiest joke when they were up to their asses in whatever mess Kirkwall dealt them that day. And because Kirkwall was an absolute disaster most days, they had amended their bet to save their absolute shittiest gems for the worst times. He didn't mean to, but he thought maybe he broke the seeker. 

         Hell, he didn't even know what made him think of it tonight. They'd finally made it through the ass-end of the Hissing Wastes to the Mountain Fortress camp or some other appropriately dwarfy name. It had been an exhausting day of battling through a seemingly endless number of wyverns, varghests, dragons, and twice-blighted Venatori motherfuckers. Honestly, in that moment he'd been missing Hawke's companionship, in this backdrop which reminded him so much of the backside of Sundermount when they'd rescued the Viscount's boy from the consequences of his own stupidity. He'd needed to share that dumb joke. And apparently turn the scariest warrior he'd ever seen into a still gasping pile of laughter. He laughed aloud at her as he watched her slowly tip over and fall to the ground. Bull's arm moved quickly to catch Cassandra as she giggled helplessly. 

          Her eyes met his over the fire as she fought to contain her laughter, it hit him so hard he could do nothing but stare. In that moment of mirth, smile gracing her face, as she lost herself in laughter at his truly abysmal joke, his heart was hers.

          


	19. Lioness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra and Varric snuggle and chat.

          Warm spring sun washes their bedroom in an amber glow. They rest on their bed, a quiet day in. The fight with Corypheus had ended victoriously weeks ago. Everything between them had come to a head just before they all left for the final battle. He smiled as he remembered arriving at the stables, turning to get the horse he was supposed to ride, only to find fists wrapped in his duster his back suddenly at the wall. Startled, he'd looked up into whiskey colored eyes which glistened with unshed tears. Cassandra teetered on the edge of speech before swooping low to press her lips to his. At the groan he couldn't suppress, one of her hands released its grip on his duster, and slid up his collar to play with his hair. When he sensed she was pulling away, he wrapped his arms around her, seeking to deepen their kiss. Her sigh against his lips shot warmth to his groin. One of her tears ran down his cheek. Regretfully he'd pulled away. She'd nodded at him, and left the stables with her horse.

          He'd tried to not be distracted throughout the battle. There were a few moments when his heart stopped during their fight with the ancient magister. Times when she fell, but before she rose again. After their impulsive kiss in the stables, he'd realized he needed to tell Cassandra how he'd felt about her. With the dragons fighting overhead, bits of masonry falling, and dodging bolts of magic thrown about by an insane darkspawn, he had breathed a prayer to the Maker to give him the opportunity.

          As soon as they'd returned victorious to Skyhold, Varric had sped off to bathe. He'd chosen his clothing with care, he wanted to woo her but with a chance at touching her. That courtly love stuff was great for people like Hero, and Ruffles. He wanted to woo Cassandra, but he wanted her. Wanted to undress her with his hands lightly dancing across her tawny skin, pressing kisses where everywhere his fingers danced. He'd found her later in the Herald's Rest. Her braid was still damp from her own bath. Her eyes had sparkled when they met his own. Before he'd fully asked to sit, she had shifted over toward the wall. Letting him sit on the outside. The guardian allowing another to guard her. The significance was not lost on him. After an evening of laughter and celebration, they had gone to his room by mutual consent. They'd spent the night beginning to learn about one another, sharing physical and emotional secrets. He'd mapped and blessed all of her scars, she'd done the same with his. 

          Now these weeks later, they had taken today to spend the quiet day in. They'd made love earlier in the day, and now, replete, her head lay on his lap. Her braid undone over her shoulder, trailing down below her breast. The lock on their door ensured no one would "surprise" them by walking in on them. He threaded his fingers through her silken locks with one of his hands while the other held the book he was reading to her from. He chuckled at the groan of satisfaction he coaxed from Cassandra while she relaxed on their bed. At his laugh, she picked up her head, looking into his eyes, she asked, "is this all a part of your plot to get me purring in your hands like a contented kitten?"

          He laughed aloud at that. "You are no kitten, Seeker. You are a lioness. You are MY lioness." He replied. She laughed with him.   
          She grew serious, "For as long as you will have me."

          He knew at that moment, he needed to speed up his plans for them. He was going to be indebted to Sparkler for his end of things. It would be worth it. 


	20. Imagine Red-Lyrium Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Hawke talk romance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I came up with the title because one of my kids has introduced me to Imagine Dragons, and I am very much a fan. In a fit of silly-poetic pique, the title came to me. Doesn't really make much sense with the fic though.

          "Maker's breath, Hawke!" Varric groused. He scrubbed his hands across his face in frustration. "Cassandra I'll-Run-Out-Of-Ink-Before-She-Runs-Out-Of-Names Pentaghast does  **not** ," he makes air quotes, "want me in any way other than as a help for the Inquisition." He glared daggers at his best friend, then buried his face in his tankard. The quick elbow to his side caused his current swallow of ale to go down the wrong hole. Hawke' riotous laughter echoed around the Herald's Rest picking up Tiny, and Krem's bellows. Hawke pounded Varric's back because that was what one did when their best friend was choking on piss-ale in a nicer dive than the Hanged Man. Just as Varric feared, Hawke's laughter had garnered attention, and then visitors to their little table. Eyes streaming from inhaling ale, and Hawke's "helping hand", he tracked Tiny, and Sparkler as the pair crossed the room and sat down. "Knock it off, Hawke, or I'll have more bruises to add to the ones I got getting out of the Seeker's way when she found out I'd known where you were all along." 

          "I'm just helping my favorite dwarf!" Hawke's broad grin made his eyes sparkle. It was no wonder the warrior had left a trail of broken hearts across half of Thedas. Varric expressed his disbelief with a snort. 

          "Andraste's hairy buttcheeks you are." Varric growled. Much to Varric's dismay, Tiny and Sparkler wanted to know what he and Hawke had been talking about. And, Hawke being Hawke, filled them in on his pet theories about the Seeker and their resident story teller. Sparkler's eyes twinkled as he launched into his rendition of the conversation when Sparkler had asked Varric, in front of Cassandra, if they had a "thing". Varric flushed bright red at the memory of the conversation. He'd been so flustered by the question Sparkler had ambushed him with, that he misspoke. He'd said "Hard in Hightown 2", instead of "Hard in Hightown 3", thankfully no one else seemed to notice his slip. He returned to the conversation around him in time to hear Hawke set up a bet that he vehemently refused to take part of. He said it was because Cassandra would kill him if she ever knew. In reality, he was a coward. He didn't want to find out if Cassandra didn't want him after all. He would continue to write stories that made her smile and swoon, and no one ever need let her know that he cared after all. 

          "Varric! You have to let Cassandra know you are attracted to her! You cannot pine like this! I am your best friend! It is my job to get you two crazy kids, together!" Hawke surged to his feet, prepared to storm out of the tavern to find Cassandra. In a blind panic Varric jumped up to stop his friend. In desperation to get his friend to stop, change his plan, because Cassandra would kill him if she knew he shouted, "She is in line to be named Divine. Hawke! Stop! I can't tell Cassandra that I'm in love with her!" As luck would have it, it was just at this moment the door to the Herald's Rest swung open revealing the source of Varric's heartache. Cassandra Too Many Names Pentaghast was framed in the doorway. And by the sudden cessation of noise in the bar, and the startled look on her face, she had heard every word of his outburst. 

         Andraste's flaming ass.


	21. Agony and Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get interesting. There is angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a piece from Cassandra's perspective. Goes with the previous chapter.

            She stood outside the Herald’s Rest paralyzed by indecision. She could hear the laughter booming from inside the Herald’s Rest. Her heart keeping time with the applause for Maryden’s latest piece. Why she allowed Evelyn talk her into doing things she personally would not have done was still a mystery to her.  She knew Evelyn had an alternative reason for inviting her to join Evie and Cullen for drinks tonight. Evelyn had told Cassandra she was being invited to come out to celebrate her possible appointment on the position of Divine, and to find out in Evelyn’s words, “What in the Maker’s name Cassandra truly wanted when she put her heart before her Maker bedamned duty.” Though Cassandra knew Evelyn wanted to talk Cassandra around into apologizing to Varric for losing her temper so spectacularly after he had revealed that he’d known where Hawke was all along. Evelyn was like Varric in that she created family wherever she went, and the rift between Varric and Cassandra made Evie as miserable as it was making Cassandra.

            She had felt so betrayed by him. They’d been building a rapport, she’d come to view him as -, no. She smiled at herself as she stomped her foot almost reflexively to cease the flow of her thoughts in **that** direction. She did it one more time for courage, remembering herself, she blushed furiously, glancing around to make certain no one had seen her childish action. When she was reassured that she and the Maker were the only ones to view her silly outlet, she returned to pacing in front of Skyhold’s tavern door.

            She knew her feelings had changed toward the dwarf over the last year that they had worked and traveled together. He was not just trustworthy. He actively sought to make you part of his family. He had a way of spinning his tales which drew you into the adventure with him and his fellows. She had realized back in Kirkwall that he was embellishing the story of the _Tale of the Champion_. She had called him out on the more obvious bullshit more than once in his retelling of the events. She blushed when she remembered her heart racing during the particularly dangerous parts of the story. She admired Guard Captain Hendyr, and had desperately tried not to blush like a school girl when she’d been stopped at the docks, Varric in tow to the Conclave.

            The woman had had fiery red hair, and the confidence to back up her order that the Seekers stop, and explain to her just exactly where they thought they were taking Kirkwall’s resident author. Despite the official paperwork Cassandra had with Divine Justinia’s seal upon it, it had taken Varric’s chat with the guard captain to allow them all to pass out of Kirkwall and on to the Conclave.  She had asked Varric later what he’d said to get the guard captain to allow them all to leave when it looked like she’d had no intention of letting them go, he’d just smirked and said, “I made a promise, Seeker.” Then he’d smiled that insufferable grin and sauntered off, crossbow on his back.

            Over time they had developed a tentative friendship and she had been pleased to realize he had actually minimized his skill in the _Tale of the Champion_. Anytime there was a battle, he did not hesitate to spring into action. That was something she admired and relied on with other warriors. There was no point in raising a weapon you couldn’t or wouldn’t use in defense of yourself of your fellows. That way lead to a dangerous situation if your enemy was able to wrest your weapon from you, he could use it against you. As she paced outside the tavern she became lost in memories of Varric fighting with her in countless situations. Then her treacherous mind lead her to memories of Varric telling tales by the fire, laughing uproariously when others laughed at his tall tales. The way his twinkling amber eyes warmed when he caught her laughing. The way he suddenly stopped teasing her when Evelyn had announced to their small group whom she was considering supporting for the post of divine.

            Cassandra would step up to the post, if that is what Evelyn believed best, but her heart did not lay in that direction at all. Ever since she’d seen the laughter, and the little hint of mischief in Varric’s eyes over the cover of the _Swords and Shields_ chapter he’d written just for her, she realized her feelings for the dwarf ran deeper than friendly. She was at a total loss of what in the Maker’s name she was going to do about it. Especially as she had no idea how he felt about her. She stopped her pacing momentarily when she remembered meeting Mrs. Davri in the Great Hall a few weeks ago. Cassandra hadn’t been impressed with the woman’s attitude, but her heart had ached a bit at the sight of two lovers being reunited after being forced to spend their lives apart. Cassandra’s heart had been torn between grief for the lovers, and jealousy that the dwarven smith had captured Varric’s heart so.

            Cassandra sighed heavily, she wished so much for a love like that. Or one like those of the stories Varric captured so beautifully. Shaking her head at her own melodramatic thoughts, she prepared herself to go into the tavern and meet with her friends. Oh well. One did not conquer a dragon by looking at its scales.

            True warrior that she was, Cassandra threw back her head and shoulders, and grasped hold of the handle to the tavern. Swinging the door wide, she was shocked by the sudden silence in the laughter. She was stunned by the sight of Varric gripping Hawke’s arm, red in the face. His words stopped her cold.

            "She is in line to be named Divine. Hawke! Stop! I can't tell Cassandra that I'm in love with her!"

            Confused whiskey colored eyes, met panicked amber. She hadn’t realized it was possible for Varric’s skin tone to match his tunic, but the evidence was there for all of Skyhold to see. He had a desperate look on his face, his hair had started come free from the leather tie that usually bound it. Framing his face. The Iron Bull and Dorian were sitting at a table just to the left of Varric. His hand was on, wait, Hawke’s arm? Clutching so hard that Varric’s knuckles were white, and Hawke’s face was surprised, and a bit in pain. Bull and Dorian were grasping at each other’s arms, merriment dancing in each other’s eyes. Dorian wiping his eyes. Momentarily distracted from Varric’s declaration, she cocked an eyebrow at the normally haughty Tevinter. This only caused further hilarity.  There was a sudden movement to her left.  Years of being a warrior taught her to pay attention to anything in her periphery. She shifted immediately, eyes falling between Hawke and Varric. She took an involuntary step forward.

            When their eyes met again, Varric flushed even brighter. Hawke pushed him toward Cassandra. Just as Cassandra spoke, “Varric?” He had lost all color and bolted from the tavern. She turned to follow him, but a heavy hand on her shoulder stopped her. The same instinct that kept her always aware of her surroundings, let her know friend from foe, and friend restrained her at this point. She looked up and saw Bull’s hand on her shoulder.

            “Wait it out, Cass. Talk to him tomorrow. He’s already on guard.” She nodded numbly. Feet somehow finding their way to Evie’s table. Varric had declared his love for her in front of the entirety of Skyhold. Yet had not ever told her. Her heart took flight at the realization, he really did love her. She had to figure out a way to tell him how she felt. She was not used to waiting. She was a woman of action. She needed to find a way to move. She could not speak to him tonight. She had to wait until tomorrow.

            Maker take them both, she would be in an agony of waiting until she was able to speak to him in the morning.

           

 


	22. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iron Bull considers his attraction to a certain Tevinter gentleman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this particular snippet, the Inquisitor is a bully, and an absolute asshole. He has taken the Inquisition and is using his power to further his own ends. (While I don't like this particular play-style, I find the character is useful as window dressing for some stories.)

It was just sex. Sex was little more than a transaction. A well-proven information gathering technique employed by people in the information gathering business for millennia. All kinds of details could be marshaled by an evening's indulgence. Strengths, weaknesses, hopes, plans, desires. The timber of an exhalation indicative of building pleasure, terror, or release. Bull prided himself on his ability to read the sensual language of his bed partners. Where they were in the hierarchy of authority, how they understood their place, and the world around them, how they functioned, and if they realized their effect on everything around them. Or didn't. Everything was informative to him. After his re-education post-Seheron, Bull'd been schooled in all manner of techniques, and his natural ability to read people worked well for him. He knew just how much information to pass along to his higherups, and what to share with the Inquisitor without looking like he was holding back to either group. Both thought they were getting the dirty on the other, and held the reigns of his loyalty. Neither realized his loyalties had shifted somewhere else altogether. He wasn't certain he would enlighten either group. Certainly not anytime soon. For now, he would just continue evaluating the leggy brunet with the golden skin, inviting eyes and sharp mustache. They'd keep their own council and every one else could be hanged for all he cared. 


	23. Wicked Graces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is head over heels for Evie. He trusts Varric will help him in his plans to find out if Evelyn feels the same.
> 
> Poor Commander, there is a naked mad dash in his (very near) future.

He was captivated. There was no other way to look at their current situation. Maker, he'd gone to the healer for a salve, he'd rubbed the back of his neck so raw. And Lady Josephine and Leliana had both teased him mercilessly when he'd gotten distracted by her at the war table the other day. He didn't agree with Varric that he acted like a swooning young girl whenever Ev-, the Inquisitor came into a room, or walked by him. He was perfectly capable of handling his many responsibilities with out losing track just because she walked past. Maker knew how much of a trial it was to look into her eyes while she was talking and to refrain from gazing longingly at her very inviting lips. He would endure The Iron Bull's ribbing that everyone in Skyhold knew he was smitten, and whom he carried a torch for, except, possibly the one he adored. He knew it. He wanted to shout his thoughts and feelings to the entire world, but he would not embarrass her that way. Especially as she seemed to see him merely as a friend. A grin bloomed across his face as he recalled some of the more personal questions she'd asked him while they'd trained troops in Haven. He wished he could be that straightforward when desiring information, but he had not the ability to just ask  **those** sorts of questions! Maker take him, he was swooning! Laughing at himself in his tower, shut away from his troops except for the occasional scout, he allowed himself the moment to dwell on those shapely legs, muscular form, aquiline nose, high cheekbones, strong chin, and fierce amber eyes. 

The way the sunlight, or any light at all would caress her face, and highlight her athletic form. The free way she would laugh when amused, genuine and deep. From the first time he'd heard her laughing, it had pulled to something within himself. Truly she reminded him of his growing up in Honneleath. All the hard work helping Father and Mother with the farm chores, running to watch the Templars train in the fields nearest the Chantry. Laughing and playing with his siblings, and gathering together at the end of the day, helping Mother with the table, and the clean up. Listening to Father play his lute while Mother sang and danced was one of his favorite memories. Evelyn's laugh reminded him of his mother's laugh, during those evenings at their farm. She reminded Cullen of safety and home. Maker, he was lost.

He loved her fierceness. He loved that she was like a lioness, selecting her prey, understanding its strengths, as well as weaknesses, and she would find the opportune moment to strike, whether on the battlefield, or in the salon. Her rapier wit parrying many a disparaging blow from ignorant nobility, her blades allowing her the same prowess on the battlefield. He'd been saved by Varric more than once while they were investigating Dumat's temple for Samson's operation. While he had no problem paying his debts, one drink for every save, Cullen doubted Varric had saved his life more than a handful of times, and certainly not 30. Oh well. Perhaps while Varric drained his purse at the tavern, Cullen could ask him for advice about how to determine if a certain golden-haired lioness might be open to his suit. Cullen laughed aloud at the evidence of his own desperation. He was going to beg the dwarf to help him out, and he knew it. Ah, well. But Cullen knew for all his shenanigans, Varric saw Cullen as a friend, and would help him out with his inability to approach Evelyn and ask her out. Varric would help Cullen determine if Evelyn was even interested in him. And Varric would help Cullen save face if the attraction were not mutual. 

Glancing out of the window that overlooked the pass leading to Skyhold, Cullen jumped. It was almost time for the Wicked Grace game Varric had insisted the advisors and companions attend. Varric had claimed a night of cards and drinking would help bond them all together, enabling them to work much more seamlessly as a unified team. It would help them at the upcoming Winter Palace affair as well. Cullen hadn't played Wicked Grace for some time, but he was confident in his ability to read his opponents and his ability to strategize. He might even win enough to cover Varric's tab and purchase a nice something for Evelyn from one of Skyhold's vendors.

Checking the fastenings on his pauldrons, Confident smile upon his face, Cullen headed down to the Hanged Man.


	24. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra's pov.

          It hits her with sudden clarity the moment she crosses the threshold of the Great Hall. His place is empty by the fire. His papers, and ink wells have been tidied up. Possibly by some scullion who is tasked with clearing the detrius Varric Tethras leaves behind, after he has secreted away those items he has deemed too important to be seen by anyone else. The wrongness of his empty place echoes deeply within her. No one sees him move his papers, letters, and ledgers from his room to the Great Hall and back again. But they all know he does it. For all that he is gregarious and welcoming to one and all, for all that Hawke and company teased him in the Herald's Rest, and shared endless stories about his "found family", he guards his heart very carefully.

          She supposes it comes from his life's experiences. By his own confession, his ill-conceived love affair with the dwarven engineer who"d crafted his crossbow, has been fraught with heartaches, and agony, and more than a little fear. She remembers when he confessed this to her, can recall with infinite detail his merrily twinkling eyes, the way his hair had pulled free in sections from his tie, how his shirt had opened wider as he leaned into her space to tell her this secret. His damned tunic tempting her to touch its normally hidden contents. She clenches her fist now in memory of how her fingers had positively itched to dance through his chest hair. How badly she had wanted to caress his jaw, drawing him into a kiss. She'd been so close to acting on that desire. Hadn't realized her body had begun moving to fulfill that desire.

          Bull's bellowing laugh had shocked her into recalling where they were, and whom they were surrounded by. She'd spun on her stool and caught Bull's eye. She nodded her thanks, and he'd nodded back. She was grateful that he had kept her from forgetting herself with Varric. She refused to be someone else's mistake. Wouldn't be a momentary diversion. She wasn't made for that. She wasn't certain she was made for the romantic relationships she fantasized about either. She was too coarse, too brash for men whose egos needed constant polishing. She was not one to flatter. For all she wanted pretty words, she did not have the finesse to wield them. She had no illusions. If there were a forever in her future, he would have to have a very thick hide, and Andraste's very nature. Unbidden a snort of amusement escaped as she continued down the hall to the armory. An image of Varric wreathed in Andraste's robes, holding a bowl in one hand, and lit candle in another was so ridiculous it made her laugh aloud. She would have to share that image with him when he and Evie returned from their trek to the Wounded Coast. Her heart skipped at the thought of sitting amongst their companions listening to their stories. Maker she had it bad for him. She would be certain he was interested in pursuing a relationship with her in more than just the physical sense before she allowed herself to reveal to him just how far her heart had fallen. 

         She was relieved that Evelyn had understood her request to do her own research on the mysterious disappearance of the head of her order. Bull had taken her usual place in their party, much to Dorian's verbose delight. Her cheeks flushed in sympathetic embarrassment when she thought back to the last time she'd gone anywhere with Bull. He'd spent so much of their journey trying to draw Dorian into his bed it seemed it was all he thought about. It had gotten so bad even Evie's extraordinary patience had finally snapped. Her aggrieved reprimand had rolled away across the desert, even Bull had been chastised. He hadn't spoken for the rest of the afternoon. It was a blissful afternoon of trudging through gritty wastes simply for not having to listen to Bull's ever inventive euphemisms. Varric would have found it a veritable gold mine. Smiling to herself, she vowed to write a few down that she recalled and to pass them to him somehow anonymously.

Who was she kidding, everyone would know who'd dropped the roll off within a fortnight of her doing it. People gossiped about when and how often Evie evacuated her bowels, there was no way she could stealthily leave a parchment of innuendos, and euphemisms for him without all of Skyhold knowing by the following afternoon. Straightening her shoulders she prepared to speak with Varric once their party returned. Hopefully her heart would survive the battle.


	25. Dithering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie and Cullen are discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of mindless fluff.

Maker save her from herself! Ugh! She was dithering! She had to fight to keep her hands flat against the war map. Tried to retain her outward calm, the only concession to her frustration was the extra force in the breath used to blow her curls off her forehead. Catching movement in the corner of her eye she knew the ladies knew and were enjoying every moment of her torment. Bastards. Leli and Josie knew far more about her proclivities than she was comfortable at the moment. His sigh undid her. Her sharp look at him cause dual blushes on each of their faces and Maker take them both, Josie and Leli giggled. 

Sighing in exasperation, Evelyn Trevelyan knew, as Varric would say, the "jig was up". But what to do about it? She knew the commander had more than enough concerns, the last she wanted to do was add more to his life. But he had such a nice ass. She'd apologize to Cullen later. In detail. Right now she just had to give in to the urge to touch him. Josie and Leliana could --- "Eep!"   The war room burst into sound. Leli and Josie collapsed against one another laughing until tears poured from their faces. Cullen looked guilty and satisfied, despite the blush that rose to his hairline. Evelyn didn't know if she should hug him or hit him in that moment. "So much for keeping things low-key, Commander." "You are much too loud, my Love." Her face turned crimson as she buried her face in his chest. She didn't realize Leliana and Josephine could laugh even harder. Where did that extra breath come from? "What?!" "On my walk over this morning, several people have suggested I consider soundproofing the tower as well as roofing it."


	26. Fire

          He doesn't know where the fury comes from. One moment he was happily scouring Skyhold, earnest boon in hand. Matter of fact, it still smelled of binder's glue as he strode through the many walkways of Skyhold proper to find a fierce seeker and give her an appropriate gift. He hummed along, peeking own corridors, and looking into crannies.  
          He finds her reclining. Joyful. His heart snaps, he swears he can hear the physical breaking of it. Like a sharp crack of mahogany, left just too long over the flame that would cure it.  
          **He** sits. In a chair in Skyhold's library. An indulgent smile gracing **his** handsome face. Varric tries not to hate the man. He has practice, it's not as hard as it could be. After all, Hawke and Broody were hard to be around for awhile too but Varric adjusted.  
          It's just...this. he hadn't realized. He's heartbroken. But as much as Varric would like to beat his hands on his own chest, declaring Cassandra "his", Varric knows he can't. She belongs to the chantry, the people, not to a foolish dwarf who lost his heart. Again.  
          She's relaxed. For the first time in all the time, he's known her, she's relaxed. Her head resting against his legs from where she's folded herself upon the floor. Liquid grace. Ah but Varric's always said she flows upon the battleground. Grace and fury, a storm of righteousness flame burning out their foes. She does flow.   
          And laugh. Her eyes sparkling in contentment. Varric counts backward from 10 in Nevarran. He recognizes the irony that he doesn't currently possess enough patience to count further.   
          He's boiling. Not just angry. He's bloody furious at the sight of them together. Varric hasn't been this angry in a long time. The last time was when he'd come home from the little chantry service he and Bianca had planned together. He'd read her, "Dear Varric," letter, his heartbreaking at the loss. Two weeks later, he had walked out of the Hanged Man and heard Bianca's laugh. It had always caught his heart. He saw Bianca and what's-his-face strolling down the opposite street. Varric had been furious then, to realize Bianca had never had any intention of running away with Varric.  That the only way he would be allowed to love her was through his words. He'd thrown himself into his writing then. Perfected the art of speaking things his heart couldn't say personally. The knife twists when he realizes he's done the same with Cassandra. Varric has stumbled upon Cassandra and her lover.  Casually affectionate. His fury twists the offering in his hands. The latest chapter of  _Swords and Shields_. A hand movement catches his eye, bringing the lovers into focus once again.  This last moment breaks him, Varric cannot watch them any longer.  **He** is unweaving her braid as they laugh together.   
          Varric knows now that the Maker has a cruel sense of humor. Book in his hands entirely forgotten. One more joyful laugh and Varric tears himself away from where he's been rooted to the floor. He runs into an arm like a battering ram.   
          "It's not what you think."   
          Varric's heart drops through the floor, "Andraste's hairy --- w need to fit you with a bell, Tiny. What are you doing here?"  
          "I'm stopping a good friend from making a stupid mistake. Dorian, likes men, not women. Go ahead and give Cass that book."


	27. Idle Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric ponders Cassandra's reading habits and admires her a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet more Cassandra+Varric. You'd think I'd get tired of writing these two. Nope. Not yet anyway.

     She wasn't even aware of it. That captivated his heart more than anything else she'd done. He'd first noticed it after he'd given her the latest chapter of Swords and Shields. Evie had talked him into writing another chapter of his worst serial for Cassandra and he had done so. Seeing Cassandra's face light up had lit something inside his chest. He wasn't even certain what it was and didn't really want to examine it too closely at this point, he'd just bask in it. Well, for as long as it lasted. Well, shit. His past forays into love were the second most depressing thing he could think of. Better to ignore the convoluted morass that'd been his love life for the past 15 years and get caught up again in his entirely non-sexual admiration of the warrior to his left. 

     All their weaponry and armor had been cleaned and put near where they would sleep. Just in case Corypheus' minions tried to pay them all a visit by moonlight. Varric snorted, that was a good line. He'd have to remember that line and work it into the next chapter of Hard in Hightown. Dinner had been consumed, the washing up done, the scouts and watches assigned. Now was Varric's favorite part of the day when he was out in the field. It was the few hours peace before bed. Sometimes they fought through the night and dropped on their bedrolls in weary exhaustion. Their armor and weaponry cleaned before going to bed. Rust in the field was just as deadly as a sword, bolt, or spell. Varric wasn't one to be able to drop off to rest regardless of his level of exhaustion. Writing always--, usually helped him sort his thoughts enough to put them to rest. Lately, he'd been having problems with his preferred method of processing his thoughts. And it had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with a certain ebony tressed warrior.

     She bit her bottom lip when she got to a suspenseful part of the story she was reading. Her breathing hitched, and a light blush danced across her cheeks when she got to an "interesting" portion of his writing. Her body twitched, tensed, shifted in response. She held herself too rigidly when reading smut. He knew because he'd been watching her reading his latest chapter and he had lightly sprinkled some plot in with the smut. Just enough strands that she could string together as a summary for curious eyes, especially if she was embarrassed to share the details of what she was reading. Though Evelyn would never let her live it down.

     The thing that captivated Varric's attention, the thing that he found so bloody distracting that he couldn't write, was the way she would unwind her rat tail from her crown. She would fiddle with it as she read. The more captivated she was by what she read the more she worried at her braid. At the end of an hour's reading, her braid was completely unraveled. And he was lost. His fingers twitched around the quill, jerked against the parchment. All he wanted to do was wrap that glorious tail around his fist while he captured her lips with his. He lost himself in the vision of her, how he imagined she would respond to a welcome advance. His blood pounded through his body as visions of a responsive, passionate seeker danced through his mind.

     Andraste's ass. She would never allow him that close. He'd just have to pour out his desire, the way he wanted to love her in the stories he wrote for her. He sighed in frustration. Looked like he'd be continuing his worst serial for a long time to come.


	28. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sad little snippet. Sorry.

           He saw them return. His eyes found her immediately. His ears caught her laughter, his eyes drank in the sight. Her brown eyes sparkled merrily, her cheeks kissed by her blush. Her lips a dusky rose. Maker he wanted to kiss those lips.

            As the returning party members moved through the gateway of the keep, he followed them. His writer’s eye missing no detail, filing it away for future reference. Ignoring the pang of his heart.

            She seemed relaxed. Loose in a way that Varric had never seen her. The way she carried herself as the party walked to the stables to care for their mounts, she was unguarded, or less so than he had ever seen her. His heart cracked.

            She threw back her head and laughed at something Tiny or Sparkler’d said. She almost fell over, carried by the force of her laughter. Tiny’s arm shot out to catch her. The gratitude in her eyes made Varric’s heart drop like a stone.

            Helplessly, he continued to track the returning party’s progress through Skyhold. His heart sank further. Too late then. He sighed heavily. He knew he had no claim on her.  The Seeker was a beautiful woman, she deserved to be lucky in love. Cherished. Beloved.  Andraste’s hairy ass. Every damned time.

            He was too late then. Shit.


	29. Rivani's Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric reflects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous Fluff with a smidge of naughty. Just a couple paragraphs, one for the start of a relationship, one for an established one.

          He watched the lanky brunette stalk toward him, the intent in her eyes making him hard. Shit, he could definitely lay his disturbing new fascination squarely at Rivani’s feet. Andraste’s ass, he’d been 15 seconds from inviting Rivani back to the Hanged Man for further story fodder, Hawke’s elbow had brought him back from utter foolishness. He’d known then honesty was the way to escape with his pride mostly in tatters. And with Bianca's affections firmly with him. The avaricious gleam in Rivani’s eye when she’d been speaking to Bianca and, by extension, Varric had spelled pure danger. Aveline and Broody had teased him mercilessly for months afterward about his reaction to Rivani’s seduction attempt. Since then, he’d found himself having reclassified humans from the “hell, no” category to “possibilities”. This lanky brunette made his heart race in more than one way. She wasn’t nearly as intimidating as she believed. But, Maker’s balls the way she moved, Varric wanted to thoroughly explore where those long legs ended.

          It was all Rivani’s fault, really. He smirked as he wrapped his arm around the dreaming beauty in his arms, breathing in Cassandra’s heady scent. She shifted in her sleep, mumbling Nevarran phrases as she walked the fade. He grinned at the memory of Cassandra’s reaction the first time he’d asked her what one of those phrases meant. She’d turned a lovely shade of violet, and had flat-out refused to tell him what it meant. So, he’d done the only thing a respectable author should do when he needed information. He had asked Sparkler. Learning the somewhat reclusive Tevinter man howled in laughter somehow hadn’t surprised Varric as much as it could have. Varric had surprised Cassandra with the translation the next time they’d shared a meal. He loved to tease Cassandra. Loved the way she sputtered and turned red, the way she’d clench her fists and her jaw. That little crease that would appear between her ebony brows. Andraste’s tits his appreciation was tenting the sheets. Yup, if Rivani hadn’t had to try to prove Varric wrong about Bianca, his worldview wouldn’t have shifted so profoundly. Yup. Rivani’s fault. He’d have to buy her a bottle or two of her favorite brandy in preparation for the next time she returned to port.


End file.
